he was bored with a conversation.
“Just keep your hands still and away from your face,” Vanessa advises. “And speak lower.”
“Was my voice too high?”
“It tends to go back to normal when you’re talking a lot. Stay quieter. Not as many words.”
We argue about the seriousness of his suspicion. Vanessa is convinced Nathan is fully on board and looking forward to a trip to Miami. She is certain no one from my past could recognize me now. I tend to agree, but I’m still stunned by the reality that Nathan uttered my old name. I can almost believe he had a twinkle in his eye when he did so, as if to say, “I know who you are, and I know why you’re here.”
CHAPTER 32
Nathan insists on going with us to his hometown of Willow Gap, so for the second morning we work our way through the mountains as he drives and Gwen gushes about the reactions in Miami. She says to Nathan that Tad Carsloff and other important people down there in the home office watched all of our footage last night and are beyond thrilled. They simply love Nathan on camera and are convinced he is the turning point in the production of our documentary. More important, one of our major investors is visiting Miami and happened to watch the tape from Virginia. The guy is so impressed with Nathan and the entire film so far that he is willing to double down on his money. The guy’s worth a bundle and thinks the movie should run at least ninety minutes. It could lead to indictments within the DEA. It could explode into a scandal like Washington has never seen.
As I listen to this chatter, I am on the phone, presumably speaking with the home office, but there’s no one on the other end. I grunt occasionally and say something profound, but mainly I’m just listening and brooding and acting as though the creative process can be burdensome. Sometimes I glance at Nathan. The boy is all in.
Over breakfast, Gwen stressed again that I should say as little as possible, speak deeply and slowly, and keep my hands away from my face. I’m happy to let her do the talking, something she’s quite good at.
Gene Cooley is buried behind an abandoned country church in a small, weedy cemetery with about a hundred graves. I tell Slade and Cody I want several shots of the grave and its surroundings, then I step away for another important phone call. Nathan, now quite the actor and full of himself, suggests that he kneel beside the grave while the camera rolls, and Gwen loves the idea. I nod from a distance with the cell phone stuck to my jaw, whispering to no one. Nathan even manages to work up a few more tears, and Slade zooms in for a close-up.
For the record, Willow Gap has five hundred people, but you’ll never find them. Downtown proper is an overgrown alley with four crumbling buildings and a country store with a post office attached to it. A few folks are moving about, and Nathan becomes nervous. He knows these people, and he does not want to be seen with a camera crew. He explains that most of the residents, including his family and friends, live out from town, off the narrow country lanes and deep in the valleys. They are suspicious people by nature, and I now understand why he wanted to accompany us.
There is no school he and Gene attended; the kids from Willow Gap are bused an hour away. “Made it easy to quit,” Nathan says, almost to himself. He reluctantly shows us a tiny, empty four-room cottage where he and Gene lived once, for about a year. “It was the last place I remember living with my father,” he says. “I was about six, I guess, so Gene was about ten.” I cajole him into sitting on the broken front steps and talking, to the camera, about all the places he and Gene lived. For the moment, he forgets about the glamour of acting and becomes sullen. I ask him about his father, but he wants no part of that conversation. He gets angry and barks at me, and suddenly he’s acting again. A few minutes later, Gwen, very much on his side now and wary of me, tells him he’s superb.
As we loiter around the front of the shack, I pace as if lost in a deep creative funk. I finally ask where his mother is living now. He points and says, “About ten minutes down that road, but we are not going there, okay?”
I reluctantly agree and step away to chat on the phone again.
After two hours in and around Willow Gap, we’ve seen enough. I make it known I’m not too pleased with what we’ve shot, and I become irritable. Gwen whispers to Nathan, “He’ll get over it.”
“Where was Gene’s meth lab?” I ask.
“It’s gone,” he answers. “Blew up not long after he died.”
“That’s just great,” I mumble.
We finally load up everything and leave the area. For the second day in a row, lunch is a burger and fries just off an interstate exit. When we’re on the road again, I finish another imaginary phone call and stick the phone in my pocket. I turn so I can see Gwen, and it’s obvious I have big news. “Okay, here’s where we are. Tad has been talking nonstop to the Alvarez family in Texas and the Marshak family in California. I mentioned these two cases to you, Nathan, if you’ll recall. The Alvarez boy was shot fourteen times by DEA agents. The Marshak kid was asleep in his college dorm room when they broke in and shot him before he woke up. Remember?”
Nathan is nodding as he drives.
“They’ve found a cousin in the Alvarez family with good English and he’s willing to talk. Mr. Marshak has sued the DEA and his lawyers have told him to keep quiet, but he’s really pissed and wants to go public. Both can be in Miami this weekend, at our expense, of course. Both have jobs, though, so the filming has to be done on a Saturday. Two questions, Nathan: First, do you want to go and do this? And second, can you go on such short notice?”
“Have you told him about the DEA files?” Gwen asks before he can answer.
“Not yet. I just found out this morning.”
“What is it?” Nathan asks.
“I think I told you our lawyers have filed the necessary paperwork to obtain copies of the DEA files on certain cases, including Gene’s. Yesterday, a federal judge in Washington ruled in our favor, sort of. We can see the files, but we cannot actually have possession of them. So the DEA in D.C. is sending the files to the DEA office in Miami, and we will have access to the materials.”
“When?” Gwen asks.
“As early as Monday.”
“Do you want to see Gene’s file, Nathan?” Gwen asks cautiously, protectively.
He doesn’t answer quickly, so I chime in: “We won’t be shown everything, but there will be a lot of photos- crime scene stuff and statements from all of the agents, probably a statement from the informant who set you guys up. There will be ballistics reports, the autopsy, photos of that. It could be fascinating.”
Nathan clenches his jaws and says, “I’d like to see it.”
“So you’re in?” I ask.
“What’s the downside?” he asks, and this question gets a lot of consideration for the next few minutes. Finally, I reply, “Downside? If you are still dealing, then the DEA would come after you with a vengeance. We’ve had this discussion.”
“I’m not dealing. I told you that.”
“Then there’s no downside. You’re doing it for Gene and for all of the DEA’s murder victims. You’re doing it for justice.”
“And you’re gonna love South Beach,” Gwen adds.
I close the deal by saying, “We can leave tomorrow afternoon out of Roanoke, fly straight to Miami, do the shoot on Saturday, play on Sunday, see the DEA file on Monday morning, and you’re home that night.”
Gwen says, “I thought Nicky had the jet in Vancouver.”
I reply, “He does, but it’ll be here tomorrow afternoon.”
“You have a jet?” Nathan asks, and he looks at me in pure amazement.
This is amusing to Gwen and me. I laugh and say, “Not mine, personally, but our company leases one. We travel an awful lot and sometimes it’s the only way to get things done.”
“I can’t leave tomorrow,” Gwen says, looking at her schedule on her iPhone. “I’ll be in D.C., but I’ll just fly down Saturday. I’m not gonna miss the three families in the same room at the same time. Incredible.”
“What about your bar?” I ask Nathan.
“I own the place,” he says smugly. “And I got a pretty good manager. Plus, I’d like to get outta town for a few days. The bar is ten, twelve hours a day, six days a week.”
